


a ladybug or a racecar

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: n word stuff
Genre: F/M, M/M, if you're a serial killer i'm not interested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 21:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19484716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: "My favorite hobby is also activities."





	a ladybug or a racecar

There's something about the new office that makes everyone so different and interesting to the point where it’s fun to watch them from afar as if they’re subjects for a National Geographic documentary. Beyoncé currently watches Jordan through the windows of his office. She can’t exactly tell what he’s doing because said windows are frosted, but she can assume what he’s doing. He is most likely reading through and signing papers, drumming his pen on his desk. Beyoncé can only figure his eyebrows are knit close together as he concentrates, late afternoon sunlight from the window overlooking the city behind him bathing him and making his very ‘handsome youth minister meets the one doctor everyone recognizes from Grey’s Anatomy’ hair look shiny and light brown.

Beyoncé has taken some artistic liberties— in her defense, that habit is one she can’t shake. That fact is something that is shared with her other habits of fantasizing about the handsome doctors in the office and eating two burritos every Monday and Thursday despite their effect on her stomach. She doesn’t mind though, because not every habit everyone has is necessarily bad. To top it off, Beyoncé rarely has a habit that is bad. She knocks on Jordan’s door, ready to relay her current issues to him; this is yet another habit that Beyoncé has, and many have attempted to shame her into feeling bad about it, but she never will see such open communication to be negative. 

“Come in,” Jordan says, the door muffling his answer somewhat.

Beyoncé steps in like the nuisance she is and plops down in one of his chairs, sighing loudly. Jordan looks at her, already exasperated, over glasses that have slid a little way down his nose. Beyoncé sees this as unfair because she hasn’t even spoken yet. However, fairness aside, she discovers that her short fantasy about Jordan wasn’t too off; she can see little lines between his eyebrows, which means he  _ was  _ looking particularly grouchy over some paperwork. The competing look of annoyance she’d taken on softens as they stare at each other.

Jordan Castellano is a piece of work. He is a 36-year-old OB/GYN, most call him Dr. C. Beyoncé has known him for a good while because both of them did their residencies around the same time. She hasn’t always been so friendly (okay, ‘friendly’ is a  _ strong  _ word) with him since that good while started due to her own ambition and career-driven spirit— and his off-putting, harsh personality. He’s worked at the practice longer than anyone else has and he’s very much a grumpy and old man— Beyoncé tends to assume that facet of his personality is because of his duration at the practice. He’s honestly a grumpy, old man about everything outside of his very elderly interests, of which include baseball, exercise, and healthy eating. He is a run-of-the-mill Catholic and Italian man, steadfast in his sometimes rude, incorrect opinions and dramatic, especially regarding possible sins, work rules, and breaking tradition. Basically he’s everything Beyoncé hates, and Beyoncé is a representation of everything he hates: a woman (some that know him would put a comma here) with an insatiable appetite for junk- of many kinds- that does not enjoy anything that is remotely good for one’s well being in Jordan’s book. Somehow, in spite of his horrendous way of being, Beyoncé is into him. He’s fair game because he’s single, but he’s a tough nut to crack because of his dreadful personality and closed-off manner of behaving. 

“What do you want, Beyoncé?” he asks, very obviously irritated. “You’re wasting my time.”

“What did I do? Wow. Are you even busy today?” Beyoncé responds. 

She believes it is  _ very  _ appropriate to take on a defensive tone, and she is somewhat justified because Jordan is very keen on always passing off harsh, quick judgments which lead to knee jerk reactions. He rolls his eyes, kissing his teeth indignantly.

“That’s a personal question,” he tells her, “‘Stoo much to do for you to come in here and discuss the so-called ‘hot goss.’ Yeah, bet you think I didn’t catch onto that little thing, huh?”

Beyoncé has to fight off a smile at how old Jordan sounds because unfortunately she finds it endearing at times, which is another contributor to the way she feels for him.

“Whatever. Anyway, two things-”

“God,” Jordan whispers, undoubtedly displeased with how Beyoncé is still sitting in front of him.

“ _ Two things _ , rude,” Beyoncé says wanting to chuckle at how she just set up a perfect segue but being unable to because of Jordan’s attitude and the unfortunate nature of her coming news, “Speaking of rude people, number one: Casey flaked on me and now I have to go see Britney Spears alone. Talk about a “Criminal,” act, right?”

Beyoncé put air quotes around the name of the song. Jordan stares at her, uninterested in her petty news as well as her pun. She honestly doesn’t expect him to get it as she watches his pretty blue irises disappear for a moment as his eyes roll.

“That’s what you get for listening to Britney Spears,” Jordan says, scowling frustratedly, “Why’d you put “criminal” in quotes like that? Anyway, is that it? Get out my office.”

It is now Beyoncé’s turn to roll her eyes, groaning as her level of annoyance begins to overtake her level of excitement at any type of interaction with Jordan.

“I  _ said  _ two things. That was only one. You are so damn mean, Jordan. I’m like, three rude comments away from going to HR!” Beyoncé exclaims, realizing it was a mistake as soon as Jordan loudly starts to tell her about all the things he could report as if she does anything wrong ever, which she does not, and she has to compete with his volume. “Okay, whatever! Can you be quiet? You’re only prolonging my stay here.”

Jordan rolls his eyes yet again, gesturing for her to continue and looking down at the papers he’d abandoned when she’d walked in because Beyoncé’s presence is very commanding. She takes pride in it.

“As you may know, Dr. J is leaving, and  _ double  _ as you may know,” Beyoncé has to stop herself from letting the tears she feels coming on fall. Jordan sighs at the very ‘early 2000’s teenager’ way she tends to speak, “he can no longer be my gynecologist because of his exit so I am abusing my power and looking for another one in-house. Dr. Reed already said no ‘cause we- he just said no.”

Jordan gives her a questioning look in response to her choice of words. She’d be completely open with him if it weren’t for the fact that he  _ refuses  _ to appreciate such behavior. She and Dr. Reed slept together quite often during their lunch breaks a few years ago. Beyoncé will never be blamed by herself nor anyone else for the decision because she and Dr. Reed are very irresistible people and when there are two irresistible people in a room together, things get crazy.

“What, so you want me to fill in for him or something?” Jordan asks. “That seems a little personal.”

Beyoncé could scream, she’s that frustrated. Jordan’s old ass makes everything so fucking complicated and weird  _ and  _ personal.

“ _ Why?  _ It’s the same thing you do multiple times every day, Jordan!” Beyoncé whines, desperate to avoid paying for something she can definitely afford, “Please. You are so mean to me, all the time you are  _ so  _ mean. I’m holding an olive branch out here. Be cordial with me so I don’t have to pay for this. I know you have to understand, because, you know...”

Beyoncé makes the gesture that many make when impersonating or referencing Italian people, insinuating that they are cheap. Jordan exhales noisily, similar to a tired old man. Beyoncé is seriously annoyed at this point, and she opens her mouth to speak but Jordan beats her to that.

“We will do a trial run-”

Beyoncé is lost.

“How do you do a trial of looking at someone’s-”

Jordan gives her a biting glare and she quiets.

“Let me  _ finish _ , damn it. We will do a trial run of everything leading up to the exam, and if you don’t mess it up, I’ll go through with it,” Jordan proposes.

Beyoncé is taken aback at his word choice, gasping indignantly. She’s taken offense, thus sparking the beginning of her and Jordan’s (at least) twice weekly childish back-and-forth.

“ _ ‘Mess it up?’ _ You have never been wrong-er about anything in your entire life, Jordan. You are out of your mind if you think I could mess up something as effortless as a pre-exam questionnaire,” she replies quite inanely.

Jordan scoffs.

“Listen to how you sound.  _ Listen to how you sound! _ ” he says, patience clearly tried as much as possible. “You sound like you couldn’t even get through the first question without making it weird by talking about your very dysfunctional lifestyle”

Beyoncé points at him emphatically as she speaks with equal intensity.

“Hey! That “dysfunctional lifestyle” is what you get paid to ask me about, genius.”

Jordan leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before looking at his computer for a minute. Beyoncé stares at him, somewhat angry at how annoying he’s been. When he tears his eyes away from the computer, he looks at her as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Beyoncé is not deterred by his resistance to her, but she is irked. 

“I have an opening tomorrow at 11. Be late and I’ll lock you out.”

Beyoncé pulls a peeved face.

“Okay.”

“Now get out my office,” Jordan says hurriedly, “Go, now.”

“ _ Fine, _ ” Beyoncé groans, “Goodbye, Jordan.”

With that, she walks out, gathering her leftover pizza from lunch so she can eat them for dinner and fulfill her weekly pizza quota, heading home. On the subway ride there, she almost gets sauce on her dress. She hopes everyone on the train takes note of it so that they can realize that Beyoncé is not always the goddess among humans that she almost always is. Clearly, sometimes, she is human. 

At times she wishes Jordan knew that too.

As soon as she gets to her apartment, she’s dragging herself to the bathroom to brush her teeth, play Britney’s greatest hits (no, not an album- a playlist of deep cuts because she is a Britney Jean purist at her core), and drift off.

_____________________________________________

Beyoncé has done everything from ordering three calzones to actually implementing a filing system in her own office and she is still pissed. Her last patient came straight from the gym, and while she isn’t supposed to judge, she feels wronged because this is the third time it’s happened. She steps out of the office to wait for the elevator when she hears walking behind her. She turns slightly and sees it’s coming from Jordan, which makes Beyoncé turn right back around. Luckily a girl from another practice comes to wait for the elevator too. 

When the elevator comes, Jordan quite rudely gets into it first and the nameless woman shares a look with Beyoncé, who mouths a particularly pressed ‘I know.’ She gets a nod to go after Jordan and obliges. As everyone’s settled in the elevator, quiet and undoubtedly tired, Jordan does something very normal for him and irksome to her: he speaks.

“Y’know, I saw a headline on The Post today…” he trails off, Beyoncé already rolling her eyes. Jordan is trying and failing to fight back a smile. “Ah, you don’t care, you’re probably tired of me. I’ll shut up.”

_ That  _ is uncharacteristic of Jordan. With a furrowed brow, Beyoncé turns her head towards him.

“No… finish,” she urges, watching with worried eyes as the one other person on the elevator gets off on a floor different than the one she and Jordan are headed to.

Jordan leans close enough to make his shoulder graze hers as he goes to whisper in her ear, breath cool. Her first thought is to move away from him and ask him what he’s doing, but something keeps her rooted to her spot, chills running down her spine as he speaks.

“It said, ‘Newsflash: you’re staying at my place tonight,’” Jordan finishes huskily.

Beyoncé can practically feel his sly smile. Her heart pounds in her ears and her knees feel weak; she’s never seen Jordan get this close to any fantasy she’d unfairly projected onto him and gotten upset about upon its unfulfillment. How did she get so lucky? On the other hand, how did she run out of luck so suddenly?

“I have an appointment tomorrow, Jordan, I-”

Jordan uses his sturdy frame to gently push Beyoncé’s until her back is to the wall, his eyes filled with lust, which she never could’ve accurately imagined ever because it’s worse for her well being than anything she could’ve ever fathomed. She also sees a determination in his eyes that’s familiar to her, and it makes her feel warm. He insistently presses his lips to hers and she takes in the taste of Carmex (bought intentionally after Beyoncé put posters up around the office denouncing Carmex for literally not working) and sugar-free gum (Beyoncé cannot  _ stand  _ such an abomination). Their lips and tongues move together like a kiss is as common for them as their bickering. Jordan pulls back afterward to look at her with an eagerness that has connotations that will never be good for her. She’s stupid enough to still attempt to turn him down— she knows this is stupid.

“It’s really late and-”

“Shut up,” Jordan growls, practically popping the buttons on his shirt because he’s in such a rush to take it off. “I wanna take you right in this elevator, I can’t wait, Goddamn it. You’re my queen.”

Jordan begins to sound very much like a trashy Italian (Beyoncé can say that because they’re just white people) when he’s passionate. Beyoncé enjoys it along with how she’s seeing a pair of abs up close for the first time. 

He takes her Chanel shoulder bag off of her and slides it onto his own bare torso; she gasps. Strangely, she starts choking and gasping for air. Jordan stares and watches. Loud sounds of beeping alarms and frenzied screaming descend upon her and it’s enough to startle her out of her sleep to discover that someone is holding a pillow over her face in real life. She struggles against whoever’s doing it and they let go; she sits up, panicked, feeling for her phone next to her as her eyes are squeezed shut..

“I’m calling 911!” she exclaims.

“DON’T. It’s me, it’s Jake!”

Beyoncé is immediately frustrated, almost to the point of being reduced to tears; not only was her biggest fantasy just that, a fantasy, but her employee has broken into her home and disturbed her. She can't fairly say he's broken in because he has a key (to put her groceries and dry cleaning in her apartment, like anyone would give someone they aren't that close with).

“Jake… please get out. Please. Before I say ‘fuck it’ and fire you, making me pick up my own dry cleaning. Go. I’m begging.”

“Bye,” Jake says, dragging out the sound, “You’re late for work, Dr. L., and you threw a perfectly good calzone in the t-”

“ _ Go. _ ”

“Okay, bye.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hey! hope anyone that reads this likes it. lol leave a comment i guess.


End file.
